


Regression

by charmed4fiction



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Regression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed4fiction/pseuds/charmed4fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Colonel?” He asked calmly as he took a step over the threshold, “You’re finally here!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regression

The day the call came in, he’d answered it. He did not expect the female voice to be that of Winry Rockbell’s.

What was even more of a cause for concern was the way she sounded when she’d asked, “Is this General Mustang?”

Her voice on the other end of the phone spoke in a solemn tone, devoid of any emotion and she’d kept her words firm as she’d lamented the misfortune that had become of her life.

“I can’t anymore…it’s too much,” she’d begun, and Roy did not need to know who she was referring to— there was only one person that could make her call him. “He's not eating. He hardly says anything, unless it’s concerning Alchemy.” She’d continued, voice gravelly, unlike the exuberant tone he’d associated with her. “He hasn’t had a complete night of sleep, and that’s not taking into account the times he’d dozed off because of lethargy.”

He’d listened keenly to each and every word. Winry had done most of the speaking, and he’d only responded with a few “uh-huh” and “is that so” and so forth, managing to keep his tone blunt.

The conversation continued to echo dimly in his ears as she’d filled him on the condition of his state, the lengths at which she’d compromised herself for him. She wanted Roy to understand that it was not her intent to give up. She’d planned on being there no matter how long it would have taken, but circumstances were at the moment, beyond her control.

“This was never the plan…please, you do understand that I did not want to give up on him…I’d hoped that two years would be sufficient time for him to come out of his bereavement period.” Her voiced had cracked, but she’d taken a controlled breath and continued speaking. “He no longer recognizes who I am. I gave him space. I let him have his time alone to come to terms with what had happened. I'd convinced myself that had been my only option; surely it would have been enough.” Her voice cracked again and broke into a sob. “He has no light around him. His light is gone and as a result, he spends all his time reading alchemy books and drawing elaborate arrays.”

“Granny is not doing too well, herself.” She’d said, forcing back, what he’d assumed were tears, and steadied her voice before she added, in a quiet low tone. “I care about him, more than he’ll ever know, but…Granny…I need to take care of her too, and I can’t do it alone, especially when he remains in his condition.The business hasn't been profitable in the last year and what little profit that we do manage is not nearly enough, substantially so, to cover the medical bills and such. I need the money, General. I’ve already eaten into Granny’s savings and the inheritance that my parents left behind. Resembool is not generating any new customers, as oppose to the Rush Valley. Although, I have loyal clients that are willing to make the train ride to the shop, others have opted out of the long journey for finding Automail Engineers closer to their home. What I’m trying to say, General is that I’m moving to Rush Valley.”

“There is simply no other choice.” She’d hesitated and between pride and despair, she’d said, “I can’t let the company that my grandfather built with Granny diminished into nothing. I need new clientele, but the important aspect of the move is to get the care necessary for Granny and the funds to do so.”

“Again, please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s certainly not a cop out. I wanted to be here for him.” She’d said and took a moment, sighing heavily. He’d perceived that she was silently chastising herself. “I was there for him every day. I’m still here, but I needed help…I had to get help. I am no longer able to reach him, no one for that matter. I hired a nurse to come by a few times a week to help me with both him and Granny, but he went berserk when she’d tried to rearrange his books. She’d left shortly after his outburst, and my last resort was to put him a special care home.”

Roy had inquired about the home and if it was her only requisite. She’d recapitulated that it was, considering that she’d felt she was not qualified to handle someone who undoubtedly was suffering from PTSD.

“The home offers 24 hours around the clock care and assistance,” she’d said, a conviction in her words. “He has his space, three meals daily, and he will have to undergo mandated therapy. I’ve dipped into his savings and withdrew enough money to cover his stay while he remains under their supervision. They are professionals and are equipped to handle his challenging behavior.”

Roy took everything she’d related to him in stride. It was not becoming of him to tell her that he thought that she could have said something to him earlier or perhaps asked for help sooner, of him. Of course, he cannot determine the situation from where he is, but he would have handled it differently.

He’d accepted PTSD, he’d live through it, of course with the help of his friends, one friend to be precise. He understood him, and acknowledges what he’s going through, above all, more so than anyone, and he believes this because they’ve shared similar losses, inflicted scars, that tragically lead to nightmares and other unvindicated actions, but they’d always bored them bravely.

“I love him,” she’d confirmed. He did not deny that she doesn’t. It’s apparent that she loves him, had always loved him. He needed that: love.“I truly do, love him. Please don't misconstrue my actions for sending him to that home, but I cannot sit idly around and watched him waste away into nothing. I cannot watch him waste away his life in hopes that one day…” She was sobbing openly, tears perhaps evident, if he was sitting across from her, “…that he’ll get him back. His delusions are blinding him, to the people who are breathing, living and who still cares.”

He would have liked to offer her some comfort; it was his natural instinct to lend an unbiased ear in times of need, but since it was a telephone call, he’d listened attentively and offered words of sympathy while she cried.

Roy waited patiently on the other end of the call until the bout of her sobs faded away and then she’d spoke again, her voice interrupted by emotional hiccups. “I know he’s not your priority any longer, General. I know he means nothing to you besides being in your care when he was under your command.” The next words came out softer than the ones she’d spoken seconds ago. Roy had to strain his ear into the receiver to hear them. “His only response is when the Doctors mention your name. No one can quite figure out why that is— I’ve told the them that he was in the Military, and you was his Commanding Officer. It’s your fault you know?” she’d said steadily: no tremor in the validation of her words. “as much as I would like to think otherwise— It’s you, who came and took him away. You did this, and you have to fix him. Dammit, General, you have to make him right again: for me, for Granny and himself.”

She’d gone silent.

Roy, he held his tongue as his muscles pulled taut across his temples.

As the silence continued, he'd become aware of her breathing, and it had vexed him that she'd blamed him for his condition. He'd long ago labeled himself responsible for everything that had gone wrong with him and hell knew he did not need her to berate him on the constitution of what she felt he did or did not.

She'd regained the conversation by interjecting, "You have to fix him! General, you are probably the only person who he'd listen to, and it pains me to say that so that you know."

"I'm leaving tomorrow for Rush Valley. I tried to say goodbye to him, but he doesn't register that I'm talking to him. Not even the slightest indication that's he's aware I'm there. I've sent you a package with all his personal possessions as well as other information about where he's staying, his accounts, keys to our home and other relevant documents. I don't know if you can, but if you can bring him back, please do so. The house is yours to use at your convenience if you decide to take on this task."

"I'm sorry that I didn't mention anything earlier. I was hoping that I could, just one time, save him,” she’d started to cry again, “I honestly believed that he could have relied on me, perhaps I could have been the one to alleviate some of his sorrows, but I'm not. I don't think I was ever the one to do so. I hope you have luck in doing just that, all that I could not offer. I don’t know; I’m all out.”

The words had ripped out of him, “I’m sorry.”

She did not respond but choked on a few more sobs and through an incredible amount of emotions she’d said her finals words, “Please help him. Goodbye.”

 

~0~

 

Roy had sat in his office after Ms. Rockbell telephone call mulling over her words for several long agonizing moments. After weighing his options, he’d decided that his best bet was to take a leave of absence and head to Resembool.

He had not taken any vacation days in over three years, accumulating several weeks worth of time that he could use. It was easy enough to get Grumman to sign off on his request without giving as much as notice beforehand. He’d secured the package Ms. Rockbell had sent the following day and took an afternoon train two days later to the small countryside town.

He was alone. Winry had left him. She had no choice; she'd said to him, but for him, there’s always choice one way or another. There’s always another way. The outcome may differ slightly or significantly, but he always sees opportunities. His governing rule always is guided by varying paths in front of him—he deliberated, analyzed and decided which option will get him to where he intended. Sometimes it may prove difficult, but if he finds that he cannot affect change in his first choice, he will do the other. That way, no matter which option he deviates towards, he’d have the knowledge in knowing which one would bring him the best results.

So when she said, she had no choice, it angered him bitterly more than anything. He would have fought back. He would not have granted himself the slightest notion that he was not able to conscientiously make him whole again. He would have stayed the course, playing those options until he was whole again. Because, if it were the other way around, he would do the same for him or Ms. Rockbell. That was his whole soul: to surge forward and keep fighting.

He’s judging this situation with her words, but he cannot let himself believe that what she said is the whole truth. He would have to discern with a clear and cognitive unbiased mind to deem that he is anything but— if he is showing signs of regression, there ought to be a logical reason why he would shut himself away from the world, from the ones that he cares about still.

The person whom she talked about does not remotely convey to the person who he’d known— knew. Whom he had a common understanding of with similar personal experiences and struggles. What it's like for both of them to fight with both spirit and mind, without so much as unwavering towards a goal. The person who smiles always beamed brightly. Who always had a fire lit under his every step.

He’d have to be objective, naturally, and remove any of his personal feelings for him from the equation on the basis that what she’d said is in truth.

It was almost midnight by the time Roy had arrived at the Rockbell’s home, too late to call his team and let them know that he’d arrived in one piece. It was a risk coming by himself, but he was not as useless— not that he was useless—that is, with one exception a sudden downpour. But honestly, that little problem had was rectified since the Promise Day. The way he utilizes his alchemy has changed dramatically. Before he was a formidable adversary. Nowadays he was a force to be reckoned with, quite literally and he’s yet to come face to face with someone who could match his newly renewed prowess when it came to performing alchemy. Unless he’s considering the nature of one other individual’s expertise in all things alchemy, but they haven’t shown any interest in using alchemy since that day.

He was tired. He’d lit a roaring fire in the hearth and went to find something to eat in the kitchen. Crackers and cheese on a plate, along with a cup of tea, had been his fare for the night. Ms. Rockbell had mentioned in a letter inside the package she’d sent that he could make use of the guest room when or if he decided to visit. He’d located the room after eating and without another thought he went straight to bed.

When he got up in the morning, much later than he was hoping for, he went about getting himself ready to leave the house. He made himself some coffee and two pieces of buttered toast. Ms. Rockbell had little or nothing of sustenance left in the pantry and the refrigerator. He added: bread, tea, milk, eggs, and coffee, to a list he was compiling for things that he needs to accomplish throughout the day as well as the remainder of the week.

~0~

Roy pulled up to Resembool Veterans Rehabilitation and Nursing Residence after lunch and immediately sought out someone from the administration department.

Maggie, a petite blonde receptionist, chipper and rather friendly, maybe too friendly, had greeted him in a teasing way, fluttering her eyelashes, “Hello, may I help you?”

“I’m here to see the Director.” He showed her his badge and explained that he had an appointment scheduled.

“Uhmm, yes, General Mustang, the Flame Alchemist,” She said, flustered, her cheeks instantly blushing pink to her ears. She glanced down quickly at an appointment book in front of her, “I’ll let the doctor know that you’re here, Sir.”

Roy hid a small smile seeing her flustered, and he was almost tempted to see if he could make the woman swoon, but he was beyond that. It was not unnatural to see women fall to pieces when they saw his face, but with his title added to the equation it took that particular viewpoint to another level. He was certainly not in the mood today to entertain the idea or otherwise envision what she’d do in a circumstance such as—He’d always referred to women or on rare occasions; men, as ‘fanatics’ preoccupied with his fame and reigning undefeatable title as Amestris most eligible bachelor. Apparently, there was a never-ending waitlist of potential candidates to date him and on the other hand which of those candidates could hold on to him the longest—indubitably the latter virtually impossible. He only had one person at the forefront of his thoughts, presently and if he were completely forthright with himself then perhaps he’d conclude that this person had already commandeered his past thoughts as well as the ‘what if future.' So, it would come as no surprise that he was not in the mood to portray his image as a playboy. Well, given that he was here because of this person, which providing his current state of mind and how he got here was proving incessant to maintain some neutral ambiguity. Instead, he was feeling slightly eager—which he had reminded himself that it was very unlike him; to be eager, anxious—

Maggie coughed pulling him out of his reverie.

“I will need you to fill out some forms for him, General,” she hesitated, “uhh..it seems like we have a few discrepancies with his Military Benefits.” Indicating to a few highlighted lines on the forms.

“Very well,” Roy said, before she punched in a few buttons on the telephone and spoke in a perky voice to the recipient on the opposite end, “Doctor, General Mustang is here for his appointment,” and she handed Roy, a clipboard with the forms and a pen.

Roy took refuge on one of waiting room chairs and eyed the papers in front of him for a moment. He popped the lid off the pen and started filling them out. Roy was striving to contain his exasperation. He could already feel the pulsating and throbbing sensation of pain on both sides of his head. The bureaucracy of Military never ceased to amaze him or lack thereof— It would seem that there were, in fact, several irregularities with his Military rank and his entitled benefits, that he had signed off on after his commendable release from the Military. How could Miss Rockbell fail to mention this before? She said she’d taken care all of this—He sighed and rubbed the side of his head. No use thinking about what she did or did not. He was not about to cast blame under the assumption of false conceptions; even he'd already been thrown into the pits of said acquisition. Without any further delay, Roy filled out the forms to the best of knowledge and gave them a satisfactory once over before he handed them back to the receptionist.

She took them and nodded her approval and told him that the Doctor would be out in a few minutes.

He resumed the comfort of the chair and looked around skeptically at the facilities. He was still digesting that he was a resident of this place. It was a grim tale, and one he’d often heard; that those locations were designated for occupants to waste way and die. He can say with certainty that being here made him feel slightly off. That’s not to say that he’s not impressed by the standards, remarkably clean and attractive ambiance. He’d looked through the brochure that Miss Rockbell had enclosed in the package she’d sent him and Falman had given him an in-depth account of the daily operations. He was not above the accommodations and in actuality he was one of the co-conspirators on a legislative bill to have several assisted living communities built around Amestris after the events two years ago. Resembool had acquired the rights to have one built because it was after all the hometown—

“General Mustang, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Roy stood up and clasped the man’s outreached hand, “Doctor Dean Allen, Sir.”

“Doctor,” Roy offered.

“It’s an honor, General, a real honor,” the doctor said shaking his hand briskly.

Roy took a step back, as the portly man ranted on fondly about several of his notable accolades. One of those Roy surmised, a fanatic. “Please General, this way.” He gestured to a set of wooden double doors.

Roy followed the Doctor through the doors which led to an atrium of sorts filled with several comfortable looking chairs, coffee tables, and a fountain.

“What do you think?” The doctor asked him.

“It’s nice,” Roy said in a flat tone. The doctor beamed, completely ignoring Roy’s overall indifference to the room and continued walking to another set of doors. He kept up a one-sided conversation still unflappable unaware of Roy’s disposition, and the slight chill falling across him with each measured step he took.

“What can you tell me about his condition?” Roy asked the Doctor, because as much as he would like the man to continue his worship about the Flame—he didn't, though he would rather have him do his job.

“Inconclusive momentarily,” he said. “Though, I haven’t worked with him for an extended amount of time. What I can tell you, General is that I’ve never met someone like him before. He’s rather peculiar—” Roy looked affronted, the Doctor waved his hand apologetically. “I mean no disrespect of course. What I should have said is that he’s insanely brilliant and quite sharp.” The doctor pushed through the other set of doors before adding “I’ve heard he’s a prodigy, but that’s mildly putting it—the young man mind is astounding. I’d asked Miss Rockbell is she knew the origins of his condition but offered nothing other that being a soldier during the war. I don’t think what he has can be defined as PTSD. Again, I’d say inconclusive in my overall diagnosis. He shows signs of withdrawal at any given time and seemingly he has the tenacity to immerse himself in his books. It seems like he’s here but at the same time elsewhere. I’d also add that he’s always searching for something or someone. I can offer some commiseration, General, though I’m curious as to the why? No matter what he has absorbed himself into at any moment, whenever your name is mention, he’s affected with a mixture of pride and a vague aversion. The intense dislike I believe is deep unresolved animosity he still carries around for you, Sir. But that's just my two cents on what I've perceived of his relationship with you when he served under your command. And that analysis is based on the tidbits he often let slip out with any mentions of his time as an enlisted man. He was a State Alchemist?" Roy confirmed the doctor's question with a nod. "Well, from the rumors and the newspapers headlines, he was known as the People Alchemists, and you are the Flame. Perhaps it was that both of you had some sort grudge against the other is my other hypotheses on why the response to your name is so strong."

The doctor stops short in front of another door. “We are here.”

Roy took a collective breath, one he didn’t realize he needed to make. A grudge he'd said. That reasoning was as far from truth and matter of fact it was not even close to it, but there was some truth to their unique relationship. A truth he did not want to think about, at least not now. Not sure when, but it would have to wait.

He looked around the new space they'd entered. Through the doctor explanations, he did not take note that the second set of doors had brought them through an elongated hallway that housed several rooms and floor to ceiling windows. “This is where our guests reside.” The doctor said, noticing the way Roy looked around. “I’ll leave you to it, General. Just let Maggie know when you are going, so she can prepare his discharge papers. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. Again, it was an honor to meet you General.”

And with that, the doctor shook Roy’s hand one more time and left him standing outside yet again another door. But unlike the other doors that offered some respite, behind this door had a bane of obscurity and Roy did not like those odds—

 

~0~

 

Roy knocked on the door and waited patiently.

The door swung open revealing—he took a step backward. What he was expecting on the other side wasn't the picture Winry had painted. He wondered what did she say about the way he looked.

The person that was standing in front of him was not the person he'd remembered from two years ago. This person was frail and extremely pale, eyes sunken with no light surrounding him.

“Edward?” Roy sputtered. He thought for a moment that he could not even get his name out. The sight of him—

His ray of sunshine—

“Colonel?” he asked as he took a step over the threshold, “you’re finally here!”

“I’m here Fullmetal!”

And then because Roy had not seen him since that day. And because— because he wasn't ready to explain the why he needed to hold him that very instant or think about all the reasons. He pulled him into his arms and bent his head to him and held him. He held onto his trembling, frail body and he murmured over and over, not sure how he found the capacity to say anything, “I’m getting you out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> So a couple weeks ago this word had entered my thoughts because well one specific day I was...well I always have a wall up and it had somehow gotten even stronger. I was thinking about Edward and wondered what if he had some sort of regression after the promise day because he'd failed and he kept regressing until he completely blocked out everyone. And then I wrote it out over my phone, only the winry and Roy conversation...then obviously I had to write more to make it worth reading...


End file.
